Told you I was hot
by ColonelSexypants
Summary: Roy makes fun of Ed's inability to cook to save his own life. -On hindsight, I don't think it was the best idea to say that while he's holding a knife. The look in his eyes tells me that running for my llife is a really good idea, and so I do just that.- rated for utter stupidity, me writing while exhausted and high-ish, and Ed's language. RoyEd if you reeeeeaaally squint .-.


**Author's notes: So. I haven't slept in forever, I have a migraine, I  
am high off medicine and my brain decided it would be lovely to shit  
out a pointless little thing, and thus, this was born. . I wrote it  
in like… fifteen minutes, and it has no real purpose. Mostly it's  
crack. Just… only read it if you're okay with losing some brain cells.**

Excuse any grammar or spelling errors; I wrote it on my iPod, and I am  
too tired to edit it properly. One day I'll come around and fix it.  
O.o Also, anything like /this/ is in italics.

From Roy's POV. I made him extremely stupid in this. This whole thing  
is just stupid. I'm seriously warning you. I don't even know if it's  
funny or just plain stupid xD To me it's funny, but I'm so buzzed that  
the moon is making me giggle. v_v I also apologize if it changes  
tenses. I tried for present but I think I accidentally used past  
soemtimes. :'O

I don't own Fma :(

~~~~~~~~  
  
What I wanted to wake up to on my first day off work was a sliver of  
sunshine peeking through my beige curtains, house quiet and maybe some  
birds chirping on the windowsill. What I actually wake up to is rain  
pattering down hard on the window, thunder cracking in the dark sky,  
and my house smelling like someone had taken a bunch of old socks and  
burned them. I groan, burying my face in the warm, soft pillows of my  
bed for a moment. I hated rain and coldness, and I already know the  
cause of the pungent odour, and both of those factors made me just want  
to curl up under the blankets and die.

Despite that, I decide to suck it up and get out of bed, shivering  
when the cold air touched my cozy-warm skin. Did I mention I hate  
being cold? My face probably looks like death as I stuff my feet into  
the black slippers near the foot of my bed and grab my (also black)  
housecoat from where I'd thrown it on the ground last night before  
going to bed. I shuffle out of my room and down to the kitchen,  
already knowing what I would find there.

"Goood morning!" the familiar voice chirps, and I sigh.

"Why are you here?" I grumble when I walk in, plopping down at the two  
chair dinner table. "Whenever you decide to come over and cook, I'm  
always my house will burn down or we'll all die from poisonous gases."

As if it was perfectly normal to be standing in _my_ kitchen, using  
_my _stove and _my_ pots and pans, frying what looked like shrimp and  
for some odd reason, apple slices (I'm not even going to ask), Edward  
turns and gives me his usual shit-eating grin.

"Hey, it's only been twice this week."

"You know it's only Wednesday, right?"

"Eh," Ed shrugs. I exhaled slowly, trying not to get too frustrated.  
Ever since I'd given him an extra key to my house― in case of  
emergencies― he'd taken it upon himself to come and make me breakfast  
at least five times a week. I can't say it bothers me that he comes  
over so often, but I do wonder why. I mean, you'd figure he'd be  
spending time with Alphonse and Winry now that their bodies were back  
to normal and ignoring me because I'm such a 'bastard', but instead he  
comes over so often it's like we're in a relationship or something.  
I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that idea, but since that  
basically makes me a pedophile, I try not to think about it too much.

Anyways. "Well, what are you making today? Yet another concoction of  
death?" I'm not even exaggerating―the other day he put relish, raw  
fish and (I shit you not) strawberries on a slice of bread and made me  
eat it, claiming it a work of art. I guess since he couldn't use  
alchemy anymore, he'd decided to take his angst about that out on me  
and make cooking his new pastime. I always ate whatever he gave me,  
though, because it made him happy. Even though I usually ended up  
almost dying.

His glare makes me roll my eyes. "Why Roy, honey," he says sweetly,  
batting his eyelashes, his voice thick with sarcasm I could  
practically taste, "I thought you loved my cooking."

I eye him suspiciously as he chops what looks like lettuce (again, I'm  
not going to ask) with the biggest steak knife I have. "If you can  
call it cooking. I call it… 'putting a bunch of random shit together  
and forcing Roy to eat it because I secretly want him to die'. Or not  
so secretly," I add as an afterthought. "You're trying to kill me,  
aren't you?"

Ed glares again, crossing his arms (which are both flesh now). "I am  
not, bastard. It's called creativity. Try it."

"I'd rather not, if it's going to make me think cooking like that is a  
good idea." I stand up, walking over to check what he's cooking. My  
earlier guess was right; there is indeed some shrimp and apple slices  
frying in the same pan, and he is in fact chopping lettuce. Sometimes  
I wonder if the Truth traded his limbs for part of his brain.

"Edward, you realize these three foods have absolutely no common  
ground and that no sane person eats them all together, right?"

"Shut up," he retorts, bumping me aside with his hip. It doesn't do  
much since he's so tiny, and I barely budge. He grabs the fork on the  
counter and stirs the mixup in the pan a couple times, not seeming  
affected by how weird it smells, a grumpy look on his face. "It's not  
my fault you have no food. I just used what I could find, dammit. And  
get_ out_ of my way, fattie."

I snort sarcastically, not moving at all. "Wow. That hurts."

"I hope so."

He just took something from the cupboard―Oh my god, is he honestly  
pouring vanilla extract into the pan? Does he even realize what he's  
doing? I grab his wrist.

"Ed, that's vanilla. Why on _earth_―"

"Don't judge me!" he snaps. "Vanilla tastes good, apples taste good  
and shrimp taste good so all together it should be awesome!"

"You eat shrimp?"

He'd started chopping the lettuce again, that adorable (again, I am a  
horrible pedophile), irritated look on his face once more. It never  
really leaves whenever I'm around. "Yeah, I eat shrimp. Why?"

"Isn't that cannibalism?"

On hindsight, I don't think it was the best idea to say that while  
he's holding a knife. The look in his eyes tells me that running for  
my life is a really good idea, and so I do just that.

"You fucking bastard!" I hear him screech, his footsteps following  
close behind as I retreated into my bedroom and locked the door behind  
me. His fists pound on the door. "I'm going to poison your food! And  
shove it down your throat! I hope you fucking choke on it and die,  
bastard, goddamnit, you _don't_ call me small―" Over the years, I've  
gotten pretty used to his rants, but they always amuse me―they're so  
creative. He probably spends hours just sitting in his room practicing  
them because damn, some of the insults flying from his mouth are insane.

"Are you done?" I call when he stops to take a breather.

"No. I'm not done. In fact, you should watch your back, bastard.  
There's a ninety-nine percent chance of a shitstorm and it's coming  
right at ya." He kicks my door and stomps away, muttering curses and  
insulting me with words that were obviously meant to offend but really  
just amuse me.

I realize then that I'm pretty immature. Oh well. I open my door a  
crack, peeking out to see if he's waiting for me to come out so that  
he can dismember me with that huge steak knife. Huh. I guess he  
actually went back to the kitchen. For some reason, I feel  
disappointed, but I ignore it.

Giving him a few moments to cool off would be a good idea, however. I  
decide that I should get at least somewhat dressed and quickly shuck  
my housecoat off, tossing it onto my bed. I grab a pair of sweats and  
slide them on, and I'm in the middle of grabbing a T-shirt when  
suddenly, thunder cracks, and I realize a cold draft in blowing in.  
That's strange… I thought I'd left my window closed?

Suddenly, with a feeling of cold, prickly dread, I feel an evil,  
ominous presence behind me. I slowly let go of the shirt I'd been  
grabbing and look back. Directly behind me is Edward, his gold eyes  
narrowed and a sadistic, slightly terrifying and psychopathic grin  
playing on his lips. And damn, he's holding the steak knife.

The blade gleams in the light from my ceiling fan. I frown at him, not  
really all that nervous because I know he wouldn't actually _kill_ me  
(though I wouldn't put it past him to try some serious torture and/or  
maiming), and ask, "How did you get in?"

"I told you to watch your back. You really shouldn't leave your  
windows unlocked. People can get in easily."

"Most people can't climb up the side of houses like you, Ed. Are you  
secretly spider-man?"

"No. According to you, I'm just a shrimp."

"But… shrimp are awesome." Okay, well, now I'm a bit nervous. That  
blade is too close for comfort. It wouldn't be so bad it he'd move it  
up a bit, towards my stomach, or down to my thighs; but nope, he's got  
it right in front of my crotch. I try my hardest not to flinch.

"Don't try to and kiss my ass, Mustang. You can't take it back."

"I'm not― seriously, be careful with that knife, will you?"

He snickers. "Are you scared or soemthing? Jesus, man up, you pussy."

"Listen, any self-respecting man would be freaking out when there's a  
shrimp―I mean, I mean, a _person_ holding a knife that close to his  
privates."

"Maybe I'll cook them in your next meal."

"That―oh god, no, you're sick." And I can't help but cringe. "Look,  
I'm sorry. I'll never call you a shrimp again. In fact, you're getting  
pretty tall. You're up to my chin now, I think." Mostly I'm babbling,  
but can you blame me? You try having a knife right up in your  
business. It's not fun.

He rolls his eyes and places the knife down on the table beside my  
bed. Thank god. "Fine," he says, smirking. "I guess I can forgive you,  
since you're such a girly-man and you look like you're ready to cry.  
But only if you admit something."

I want so badly to make a snide remark about how he must not know the  
horrible fear of being castrated because he lacks the parts necessary  
for castration, but I bite my tongue. So far, I'd escaped death by  
knife, and I just have to get past death by random food mixup; I don't  
really want to add something else to that. I sigh. "What is it?"

"You have to admit that I, Edward Elric, am the most awesome,  
talented, amazing, tall, sexy person on the face of the earth." Upon  
seeing the look of amused disbelief on my face, he adds, "Say it, and  
I will throw the shrimp and apples and stuff out and you can order us  
pizza."

Well, either way I was going to be the one that got the down side of  
the bargain, so I sigh. "Edward Elric, you are the most awesome,  
talented, amazing, tall person on the face of the planet. Good enough?  
What kind of pizza?"

"Hell no. You didn't say sexy. Hot works too, though. One of those."

"What?" I demand, exasperated. "Seriously? I'm not saying that. I  
could go to jail!" Especially since it's true!

"I don't give a damn! Say it!"

"You realize how weird that is right?"

"It's only weird if you make it weird," he retorts.

"How is this _my_ fault?"

"I mean that you'd only make a big deal out of it like you are if you  
think it's true."

His logic is so messed up. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! You think I'm sexy!"

"How on earth do you come to these conclusions?"

"Because! If you didn't think I'm sexy, you would have just said it  
and then gone on with life. But since you're making a big deal out of  
it, you obviously think I am sexy, and that's why you don't want to  
say it!"

"That's not even―"

"You think I'm sexy!"

"I do not―"

"_Iiif you want my booddy_~"

"Edward―"

"_Aaaand you think I'm seeexyyy_~"

I'm going to murder this kid. "Edward Elric."  
_  
"Coooome on honey tell me sooooo_~"

My patience finally reaches its limit. "Fine! You're sexy and hot as  
all fuck, Ed! Now stop singing, stop dancing like a stripper, and tell  
me what kind of fucking pizza you want."

"Pepperoni! And I'm just being sexy. Which you totally think I am!"

I give up trying to argue with him. "Okay, Ed. Whatever. I think  
you're sexy, and I want to get into your pants. Believe what you will."

He throws me a saucy grin. "Oh, I will believe it. 'Cause I know it's  
true."

I decide to turn his logic back onto him. "You know," I say in a high-  
pitched falsetto, mocking him, "since you're making a big deal out of  
it, you obviously want me to think you're sexy."

"Duh, didn't we just make that clear?"

"If you follow that logic, it also means you want me. Why else would  
you want me to think you're sexy?"

His grin falters, and I can tell I got him. I smirk, deciding not to  
comment on the light pink flush on his cheeks.

"I win this round," I tell him smugly.

He growls and punches my arm, hard. "You're a pervert."

"I'm not the one that started to do a strip-tease in the middle of a  
man twice his age's room."

"I was just playing around, bastard!"

"Mhm, whatever you say."

"Order the fucking pizza already, you asshole."

As if this moment wasn't annoying (yet amusing) enough as it was, the  
fire alarm downstairs suddenly went off, the shrill and high-pitched  
sound making us both jump about a foot in the air. Ed swears, grabbing  
the steak knife and bolting it out of my room, screeching something  
about me being an asshole and making him forget the element is on.  
Resisting the strong urge to tear my hair out I run after him, half  
worried he'll trip and impale himself on the knife but mostly just  
afraid he is going to burn down my house. I'm not surprised when I get  
to the kitchen and am greeted by the sight of Ed screeching and  
dousing the oven (which is, much to my dismay, on fire) with foam from  
the fire extinguisher that had been under the sink.

When the last flame dies under the foam, and the fire alarm stops  
blaring, I give him a long, flat glare that I hope conveys all the  
homicidal thoughts I'm currently having. He grins nervously and shrugs  
bashfully.

"Told you I was hot."

~~~~~~~~

**Weird formatting is weird. O_o**  
**  
I'm not even sure what the point of this is… Review if you want. O_O I  
don't blame you if you now think I have mental problems. This is what  
sleep deprivation does to me. I become stupid.**

No flames though, please. There was enough in this story thing .


End file.
